


A Private Kind of Happiness

by skyshadedblue



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyshadedblue/pseuds/skyshadedblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=774">this</a> asofterworld comic: <em>I’ll be late again tonight. So when you finish yourself off, be extra passionate, like I’m making it up to you.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Private Kind of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from '[Sunday](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9pf3omyGzw)' by Bloc Party. Unbetaed/not britpicked, therefore my apologies in advance ._. ([livejournal](http://wobaozhewo.livejournal.com/68676.html))

_“It’s another late night. Don’t wait up.”_

“Again?”

_“I’m sorry, Merlin, but you know how important it is for me to bring in this new client.”_

“But you gave your word you’d be earlier on the weekend,” Merlin says, rough and steady, knowing Arthur would flinch at the mention of broken promises.

_“I know, and it’s not fair, but—”_

“Arthur, you’ve been working every night, all week, and—”

 _”I am_ aware _. Don’t be such a girl, Merlin—”_ Arthur pauses, and this is old hat. Merlin can almost hear the foot-in-mouth punch in the gut Arthur mentally gives himself. He unclenches his jaw in time to catch Arthur starting again, softer. _“I’ll be home now in a minute, alright? ... Love you.”_

Merlin breaks, just like that. He resists a sigh. “Oi, Pendragon, you’re making fun, you are,” he says, but he’s smiling and there’s no sting to it.

-

He feels it—the uncomfortable yearning.

Merlin holds it off as long as he can. He knows he’ll give in. That’s just how it is. He always gives in somehow, because the most desolate, most disconsolate moments are these. The absence and emptiness are consuming, like being submerged leagues deep in the open sea—unfathomably dark and unbearably ponderous.

He understands. He knows what Arthur wants and why he’s working so hard. He doesn’t deny he wants the same. Merlin understands.

But it’s just so difficult.

Merlin turns off the television. The blinds are drawn closed all around their flat and it’s dark but for the light in their bedroom and the dim lamp beside the front door. They’d argued over the placement of that lamp for hours the day they brought it home. Merlin won, of course. He keeps it on when Arthur comes home after dark, so he doesn’t stumble about when he gets in.

He sits for a moment with eyes closed, remembering how warm it was that day, Arthur’s look of begrudging indulgence as he pulled Merlin close. The heat that’s been pooling low in his belly - for the hours since he last heard Arthur’s voice - stirs and aches, a pleasant burn that moves him to cup the tent of his crotch.

Arthur always commented that if his restraint were any weaker, he’d need to be tied down and locked up like an overexcited pet to keep from straying, but the thing is, Merlin knows better than Arthur just how “overexcited” he can be. In the same way, Merlin also knows better than Arthur just how conditioned he is to what Arthur wants from him. He is _good_ at abstaining, he’s _good_ at being deprived, if Arthur wills it. He can be teased to the brink, toeing the line without ever going over, waiting for the right command to topple him from the peak.

Nights like these, nights Arthur works late, he doesn’t have the time to make Merlin beg.

Merlin knows he’s left to fend for himself, to his own devices - eyes still closed, he doesn’t bother stifling a grin. Arthur won’t be home for at least another hour. More likely two. That would be enough. That would be more than enough for what he needs, what Arthur needs.

Merlin strips off his shirt, moulds himself further into the soft and worn couch that Arthur loathes but allows because Merlin had argued for sentiment. They couldn’t get rid of the couch where they first kissed, he said.

Privately though, he had thought, they couldn’t get rid of the couch where they first felt each other’s rapid pulse, at least not yet—not the couch on which Merlin first woke up to Arthur and felt complete.

He fiddles with the gold pendant round his neck, no larger than a nicker bit. He remembers when they’d taken the trip to his mam’s - _two years ago_ (hells, has it really been so long?) - and they’d had that fight over nothing really. Arthur had proposed on the spot with none of his usual grandness or premeditation. All he’d had was this pendant, bearing his family signet, and he’d told him, aloud for the first time, just how much Merlin meant to him, and promised his life.

Merlin replied in kind, but not without a jibe or two.

(“You’re to end all our fights with heirloom jewelry then?”

“Just the one. We can go back to make-up sex for the other ones, like the plebes.”)

He unzips his trousers then, and pulls his cock out his pants. He’s already made wet spots on both and he stares at his cock for a minute. It’s at its full length and, free from its confines, it curls close to his stomach.

He strokes the underside with his middle finger, from the base, where balls meet shaft and follows a line up to the tip, gently circling at the bundle of nerves right below his cockhead. He’s mesmerised as his finger repeats the motions, up and down, up and down, until as if of their own volition, his thumb mingles with his index and plays with the precome seeping out onto his stomach.

Merlin takes it and swipes around his nipple, imagining Arthur’s tongue, measured and coaxing, imagines Arthur, waiting for Merlin to break and to beg. Arthur, who knows just how stubborn Merlin can be. Merlin imagines Arthur who should be here but isn’t, and he growls, succumbs to his need for touch, rolling and rubbing his nipple to a hardened point while his other hand keeps him from coming.

At this rate, he won’t hold on for long, but he needs more.

Merlin near jumps up to his feet and makes for the bedroom, still holding his cock at the balls. If he weren’t so painfully erect, he’d laugh at the awkward picture he paints, waddling like he’s pissed his pants.

But that doesn’t matter, definitely not as much as _not coming_ ; that’s most important and nothing else, Merlin thinks, ravaging through their private drawers until he finds it. A soft leather strap, thick and almost velvety, and Merlin quickly snaps it on, adjusting the buckle for a snug fit.

He groans, desperate and delighted his palms are free now to slide across his chest and torso and he yanks his pants and trousers off, flinging them aside so forcefully, his belt clanks against the wardrobe.

Merlin digs through the drawer again for everything else: the lube, the plug and its remote, and a condom, because if he doesn’t gather it all now, he won’t care enough later. Arthur doesn’t like it when he’s careless about his hygiene after all.

Merlin smirks, deftly rolling the condom onto the butt plug and laying back on the bed.

He stills for just a small moment to catch his breath, thinking of how hard he is, of the urgency of need swirling at the pit of his gut, of what Arthur would say if he came in right now and saw Merlin, cock wet and straining, waiting just for him. He probably wouldn’t say anything and watch Merlin have at it, the lazy git. But, Merlin supposes, the finale _is_ for Arthur, so he has the privilege. Doesn’t stop Merlin from thinking he’s a lazy git... albeit, his lazy git.

And there it is again, that flare of want, hot in his cock. Merlin hums in short breaths, uncapping the lube and drawing his knees up, his thighs easily falling open. He smears lube all around his hole and teases it, dipping a finger or two lightly in, moving to rub his inner thighs and coming back to tease again.

He does it over and over, never pushing any further though he needs it, he needs it, he feels like he’s going to burst any second now.

Only, the cock ring stops any and all relief from coming.

“Fuck!” Merlin gasps, shoving himself upright. He grabs at the butt plug and pours lube on it, making sure of its slickness.

Merlin gets on his knees, holding himself up on one arm while the other keeps the plug from jostling. Five inches length of beautiful fullness, and a lovely one and an half inch girth in a sleek black (because the only other colour available was hot pink and far be it from Merlin to disturb Arthur’s male sensibilities—

“We’re _gay men_ , not 15 year old _girls_.”

“... I highly doubt 15 year old—”

“Shut up, Merlin.”)

And that thought, too, riles Merlin to the edge again, and he pushes down with even thrusts, gradual, deliberate, imagines Arthur watching him, desiring and needing, knowing how much Merlin wants his cock instead.

He keeps at it until he’s reached the base of it, and his breaths are shallow and loud. His precome has dripped on the covers and Merlin lightly massages his cock with the foreskin, gathering the excess liquid into his hands. He takes his hands away quickly because his cock throbs, hot and sensitive with pleasure-pain, and instead rubs them over his nipples, having neglected them for long enough.

They’re still hard, partly from a slight draught in the room, but mostly from arousal. Merlin flicks at them, the way Arthur would with his tongue. He said he liked the texture of it - so different and so much more tantalising than when they were soft. Arthur loves mouthing at them, exploring every millimeter with his lips as if more of Merlin would suddenly present itself for his investigation.

Merlin aches. He licks his lips, and can almost taste Arthur, salty and heated on his tongue. As the seconds tick away, he can recognise that distinct scent of _Arthur_ in the room and his body convulses with it.

He wants, he wants, and he reaches over and snatches the plug remote up, leaning his cock against the blankets, and turns it on.

It’s heaven and hell. Merlin can’t move as the vibrations run through him, wave after wave of unspent orgasm. He wants to take the cock ring off, he wants to come, but he wants Arthur to see him, like this, and that overrides everything else.

Merlin musters up all his willpower to reach out and pull the blankets away, to clutch Arthur’s pillow against his body, rolling onto his side and driving his hips against the cotton material. He needs to lower the speed, it's too much it's too much, but he realises too late he's lost the controller.

Merlin can’t see straight, vision blazing all sorts of colors as he hyperventilates into the pillow. His arms and legs are quivering and weak, he can’t control his hands and toes clenching and curling, he only knows his cock is pounding with sharp _need_ and his arse is full and yet somehow wants _more_ and—

“Merlin.” The low voice rumbles through Merlin’s bones.

“A-ah-mmngh-Ar-thur...” Merlin manages to breathe and roll to face him, but he can’t get upright.

Arthur’s taken off his jacket and loosened his tie before coming in, hearing Merlin’s noises probably. He steps towards him, taking off his tie and leaving it on the ground, and his eyes are dark and almost angry as he sits beside him, cupping Merlin’s jaw.

Merlin knows he looks a writhing, wrecked mess.

“You’re shaking,” Arthur says, sounding quite perfunctory. Makes Merlin's lips quirk up.

“D-don’t pout.” Merlin shudders and moans as Arthur reaches over to feel the stretch of skin along the still-vibrating plug. “P-pleas-se... Arthur, I—” He gasps and moans again when Arthur leans down to kiss his arsecheek.

“Let’s take this out now, love,” Arthur says, pulling at the plug, tugging until it’s out, and tosses it aside. Merlin sorely feels the gap it leaves, can hear its hum somewhere in the blankets, but it fades immediately at the sound of Arthur’s zip.

Merlin crawls to grab at Arthur’s hips, jerks his pants off, and takes Arthur’s half hard length in his mouth, licking and sucking and fondling until he’s good and hard, before Arthur pulls him up for a kiss, lips pressing hard into every corner.

Arthur sets Merlin onto his back and Merlin gets Arthur’s shirt off with bumbling, unsteady hands, his entire being still tremors for relief, cock pulsing so severely, so mercilessly.

Arthur slips into him with expected ease.

“How long have you had it in?”

He’s been waiting so long, Merlin feels Arthur thrusting into him so slickly, it feels so good, so good, so good.

“How long?” Arthur repeats, stern and gruff, slowing his thrusts.

 _No, no, nonono_ — “I-I don’t know. I l-lost-HNG! I lost track,” Merlin says, wrapping his legs around Arthur, barely remembering to breathe. “Faster, faster, Arthur, faster, please. Want to come.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely...” Arthur nips at the cut of Merlin’s jaw, sucking at the tender spot that makes Merlin keen, Merlin’s gasps and moans matching his steadily increasing rhythm.

Arthur grunts, ramming into Merlin’s hole, no need for gentle movements. Merlin can feel the signs, the unremitting pounding, Arthur’s lips and hands and body bearing down, moulding them together, the hitches of breath.

Merlin’s cock burns for it. He grips the back of Arthur’s neck, his back, keeping him close, because nothing is as familiar as this, as _sure_ as this, this physical connection, knowing they’re meant only for the other, that nothing and no one else will do.

Arthur’s hand slips between them, and Merlin angles to kiss his forehead and ends up catching Arthur’s cheek between his teeth, seizing it with his lips and inhaling the scent of stale sweat and the poorly ventilated office Arthur had been trapped in.

“You—mm—smell,” Merlin says.

“Merlin...” Arthur brushes the edges of the cock ring with his fingers and doesn’t stop his thrusts.

“Arthur!” Merlin laughs, crazed, and Arthur keeps his pace, unrelenting, and finally, finally, the slap of Arthur’s balls against his arse slows and come fills Merlin to his capacity. His vision blurs and he’s mouthing sounds he means to be “please,” but he can’t hear anything except throbbing, from his heart, his legs, his cock, and finally, the snap of the cock ring coming undone.

And he’s done, every sensation comes together, climaxing, tight and endless, until his body feels like ice and fire come alive.

His come is released in abundance, collected from the last few hours of forbearance. When, at last, his cock slacks, Arthur is still milking Merlin’s cock for every last drop, kissing Merlin deep and still wanting.

The warmth of Arthur’s hand enclosed around him is comforting, though his cock is irritatingly raw. Their breathing is laboured, a mix of discordant beats.

“I couldn’t do this without you. Can’t bear it,” Arthur says, nuzzling close to Merlin’s ear, trailing down to lip the chain of his necklace.

“Really,” Merlin replies, nuzzling back. “You’re right. No one else would give Your Dollopheaded-ness a nice, wet hole to play in.”

Arthur shifts his hips up in a sharp motion and Merlin cries out as Arthur’s cock rubs just the right spot. “Prat!”

“Idiot.” Arthur gives him a peck on his chin. “I’m being serious.”

“I know. I couldn’t either, can I,” Merlin says, breath short, and chuckles when he hears the plug still vibrating away, possibly losing steam. They’re going to have to find one with a longer lasting battery for their next holiday. Whenever that’ll be.

“It won’t be for too much longer though, will it?” Merlin asks.

It’s not an entirely alien experience, Arthur still lodged in Merlin’s arse, pants and trousers still swaddled about his calves. Arthur is dead weight on Merlin, but neither willing to break apart.

“Soon,” Arthur says. “Then I can resign and we can move to the country and become farmers.”

“Farmers.”

“Or whatever the hell we like. I think we’d make very admirable horticulturalists.”

“I remember you promising me children. You’d be all right raising them in the back end of the sticks?”

Arthur pauses long enough for Merlin to turn red.

“Or not, if you didn’t mean, I mean—or maybe—”

“Merlin.”

“Yes?”

Arthur gives him a kiss, and Merlin tightens his hold around Arthur’s chest.

“I promised,” he says against Merlin’s lips. “I’ve promised you a lot of things actually.”

Merlin kisses him harder, but Arthur pulls his lips away.

“I haven’t kept them,” Arthur says. “I don’t deserve you at all.”

“Arthur.” Merlin tugs him back down, bringing them together again, reminding Arthur where he is, in Merlin’s arms and body. “You’re keeping the one that counts,” he says, finding Arthur’s hand and kissing the silver ring there.

“You deserve everything I have to give.”

Arthur smiles, and in one swift turn withdraws from Merlin, divesting himself of his pants at the edge of the bed. He bends down to pick up the remote that Merlin had apparently hustled to the ground and sifts around the blankets until he finds the source of the low hum in the mass of covers, turning it off with a small click.

Merlin’s too worn, too spent, too feeble to lift his head up to see where Arthur goes or what he’s up to, yet his limbs are restless and bereft, a bit chilled without a blanket, or Arthur to warm him. Still, he can feel Arthur trickling out of his hole, bit by bit, and he can’t help bringing his boneless fingers to touch.

Arthur returns, unhurried, and swabs at Merlin with a wet towel, careful and meticulous as always, swatting Merlin’s hands aside. He looks as sluggish as Merlin feels, chucking the towel towards the chair by the wardrobe before drawing the blankets over the both of them, fitting them together again.

Arthur’s hands are cool now, fingers dotting a path down his spine all the way down the cleft of his arse, reaching to fill Merlin up again, still loose and pliant.

It’s another early morning tomorrow, and mostly likely another late night, but this...

This is what carries them through.


End file.
